This is Jack's aftermath
by nyxthom
Summary: Jack/narrator is dealing with the aftermath of Project Mayhem. This involves a lot of pills, the colour white, more voices and a snazzy jacket. M for later chapters - violence...whatever
1. Responsibility

The rubble and destruction lay on the ground, prodded by the boots of unnecessary rescue teams, police officers and firemen. We snuck quietly away towards the nearest hospital...the hole in the back of the left of my jaw hurt like hell, no more than what I was used to in Fight Club, but it still needed to be seen to.

Marla held my hand the whole way, squeezing it every so often to get me to squeeze it back, reassuring her that I was ok. Not so much that she was reassuring me that she was there for me. The hospital was only a few miles away, but the drive felt so very, very long.

Operation Mayhem had been a success. Tyler got what he wanted and I, well, I was going to have to think now, now wasn't I?

When I'd realised what was going on I had panicked. I had got so scared that I had gone to the police and asked them to arrest me. They knew EVERYTHING. Or at least, most of everything. They'd find me eventually. And if they didn't it would be because the guys Tyler..._we..._I had on the force were doing everything they could from letting me or anyone else who was part of Project Mayhem or Fight Club get caught.

I don't know whether I should be thankful or ashamed. Whenever I heard about a horrible crime; a murder, a rape, a horrific assault on someone, whatever I always felt sorry for the victims...but now, I was technically both a victim and a criminal. I hadn't been in the right state of mind (urg...pun) and everyone who was involved either directly (the space monkeys) or indirectly (Marla) knew me as _Tyler Durden._

The leader. The superior officer. The only one who was allowed to have a name in this insane freak show of 'revolution', of 'freedom' and reckless incidents of stunts that go **far** beyond 'funny', 'innocent' pranks known as 'Project Mayhem'.

**No.**

This was very serious.

_I am Jack's nagging conscience._

I should offer myself up to the authorities.

I should be trying to focus on where I was walking as I was led down the corridor of the ER.

I should not be here at **all**.

Tyler is gone....but for now, I'm going to have to live with the name for as long as I am still with the monkeys and Marla. Maybe I could tell her my real –

"OW!"

"Sorry, sir. It's a pretty nasty wound" The doctor says to me. His broken nose far too familiar to me for my liking. "If you don't mind my asking, sir, but, how did you get it?"

I looked up at him as he continued to stitch and sew, eyes never leaving the wound and his handiwork.

I rolled my eyes trying to convey that I was not going to tell anyone.

Angel Face stood close to Marla's left and the very first applicant stood to her right. I looked at them and furrowed my brow. They backed off a little and Marla smiled at me and uttered "Wimp" or something.

"Aaaaand there we are" The doctor said as he stepped back and allowed me room to get up and stand, "Sir, if it's all right, I advise keeping it clean and not touching it" He attempted to reach up and swat my hand away but stopped himself, as if remembering who I was. He shuffled his feet and looked at his shoes.

"Sir?" I turn, Angel Face...heh...began, "What now?"

"'What now'?" I repeated. "What now?" I whisper. What **do** we do now? The police know about the house, the garden and Bob...the plan...not all of the men on the force are ours so it isn't like we'd be able to stay away from them forever.

The house might end up on auction....the monkeys who don't have a home anymore could put their $300 'burial' money together and buy it...

I'll probably end up in jail...Marla probably wouldn't visit...

I sigh.

"Um...we see if we can go back to h-head quarters" I rasp, "We get the guys on the force to keep an eye on it...see if it comes up for auction"

"Mr Durden?" Ricky (First recruit) asks "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that we will get caught if we are not careful. Not all of you are to blame..and I am but you guys...you're just..you're just a bunch of fucking monkeys!" I walk forward a little and take the pants the doctor had brought in. "You know what? Get everyone to meet at Lou's. Don't ask why...we just need to..to talk about something"

Ricky stares and nods his head. Angel Face mentions a list of names that Tyler kept in his room and that they weren't allowed in there.

"I can't go there, _right_ now. You have permission to go in and take the list" I wave my left hand up and down to show that I mean what I'm saying.

They leave.

Marla looks at me, I look at her.

"So what the fuck is going on?"

How eloquent.

"The explosion we saw. That was Ty-**my** idea. Those guys who picked you up? My...uh...'followers'"

The look she gave me was priceless.

"I know, sounds weird. But. Remember I told you I found a "new thing"?" She nods "It was basically me  
and some guys who got together and beat the shit out of each other as a...uh....a release"

"And when did blowing things up come into this?"

"When ... I uh... lost control of my body"

_I am Jack's idiotic honesty_

"Well...maybe not so much...my body but...uh" I sigh. Rub the back of my neck and look at the floor for a few moments before sheepishly smiling at her as I raise my head. "Basically, I wanted to rebel against consumerism and wanted to erase the debt record and...and...Listen, I'm not sure what I wanted...or how explosions got connected to fighting for some kind of stress reliever"

"Sir?" I turn around, the Doc is back. "There's someone on the phone for you"  
"Who is it?"  
"In project mayhem we have no names so-"  
"Project Mayhem is over" I state. He still has a blank expression. "Blonde hair?" I sigh.  
"Yeah" He smiles and moves from the door way to let me past.

"What is it?"  
"Sir, we have the list of names and locations for tonight and have managed to get in touch with the leaders of each group of people. We have told everyone to get to Lou's immediately. A car is ready to pick you up if you want it"  
"Thanks...good. Send it over I'm still at the hospital" I hang up and tell Marla to get a cab back to her apartment and wait for any news.

The doctor and I share the cab to Lou's. Silent and oh, so very pleasant.

When we open the doors, there is a loud chatter which stops as soon as my feet hit the bottom step. Heads turn to face me. Eyes open and watching my every move. Hands covering mouths as they see the damage at the back of my jaw.

I stop in the middle of the room; a circle is formed around me as I take a deep, deep breath.

"Project mayhem, is over. We have accomplished what we set out to do!"  
There is an unwanted cheer and I hold my hands up and there is silence...this amount of power is both intoxicating and terrifying.  
"Project Mayhem is, as of now, OVER! Do you hear me? OVER" They turn to one another, slightly confused "Fight Club is officially starting again, nothing else. So you guys can meet here and fight. But no more pranks or anything like that _until I get back_!"

"Sir?"

"A little while ago, I-" I stopped. I didn't want to admit that it was ME that had told the police...I never really wanted to be a Castrati Singer...but the Officers who had been in the interrogation room had moved forward "I alerted the police about what we were doing" Faces contort into expressions of confusion, anger and uncertainty. "As part of a test" Faces are confused.

"The test was to see if it was possible for you to stop me. You failed"

Faces are ashamed.

"And I am probably going to have to go away for a while"

_Years more like._

"While I'm gone, I want you guys to just keep Fight Club going. As your outlet. No pranks, unless I tell you. Marla Singer is to be left **alone**. By all means, keep an eye on her to make sure she's safe but _nothing_ else. Also, I want you try and see if you can buy the house on Paper Street, those of you who don't have a home I especially want you to try and buy it. Keep it as your own, do it up, I don't care"

I explained what might happen, what they had to do, and that if they needed me (because the sheep always need their leader) if they **absolutely** needed me they had not to return address it, and if they did, make sure it had my old PO box address on it.

"So, for now, go home. Live the lives you had before Project Mayhem and...and just lay low!" I said as I backed off towards the steps. I got back in the car and drove to Marla's explained what I could to her and then drove to the police station and turned myself in.

Again.

But with a totally different and not-to-mention totally unexpected outcome...

At least it boosts the legend of Tyler Durden being **born** in a mental institute.


	2. Totally Worth It

A/N: Woo for chapter 2!!! Please read and review! I can't help but wonder if I'm doing this right, so you're critisisms are greatly appreciated. (Esecially for this one, since sequals are usually shite)

Chapter 2

White walls.

White floor.

White ceiling.

White door.

White coat.

White pants.

White shoes.

White hats.

Everything is white...and they wonder why it takes so long for people to regain their sanity. Lack of colour can fuck you up. Look at the god damned monkeys in their black clothes and masks. I can still hear them chanting.

"His name is Robert Paulson. His name is Robert Paulson"

When I'd explained my side of the story I was looked at funny....then they decided I'd had MPD. Multi-Personality Disorder. But when I told them I'd shot through the side of my own face and shot through Tyler's head they decided I would fit nice and snug into a long sleeved white shirt with buckles and loops.

I feel so pretty.

They keep an eye on me because I claimed that I'd managed to get rid of my 'other self' as they'd called it. They drug me to see if they can coax Tyler out of my head...when it failed they just sent me back. I had all the symptoms of an MPD sufferer. I was just lacking in the MP area. They give me test after test to see if I have anything else wrong with me.

It worries me that I'm happy that the stain on the wall across from me is blood and not urine.

_I am Jack's boredom_.

I've counted the indents and stains and other markings the previous inmate had made.

I'm suffering from insomnia again...and they sometimes take pity on me and dope me up and I sleep better than any time I had slept after crying at groups.

Sometimes I miss Bob's bitch tits. But I usually just miss Bob as a whole.

Much as I hate to admit it, sometimes I miss Tyler.

_I am Jack's need for familiar and comforting ground._

Rolling onto my other side I stare at the door. It opens and someone walks in.

"Hello, Jack" Shrink Betsy says in her far too chipper voice.  
"Hey" I mumble.  
"How are you feeling?"  
"I'm good. You?" I hate pleasantries.  
"Same as usual. We're going for a walk"  
I raise my head and look at her sceptically. Last time we went for a walk she showed me the remnants of the CCTV video from the building Tyler and I had our last fight. She was honest when she told me how bad I had gotten it. And that something that strong could manifest itself again.

Sometimes I wish she'd lied.

Sugar-coated lies. How I miss them.

But she was right....Tyler hadn't really came back. But I could hear his voice somewhere, wounded and weak, in the back of my head. But he was only ever a quiet whisper. A whimpering thought that was there and then wasn't.

No. Tyler probably wouldn't be back. Maybe not ever. But not right now either.

No. There was a different voice. Stronger than Tyler's. Constantly nagging and whining that I was stuck in a loony bin.

_I couldn't agree with you more.  
**Heh. Like you'd want to, kid.  
**So...Are you going to...oh, I don't know. Take over my body and get me to build you an army?  
**Ha ha ha ha! You're good. No. I'd **never_** _do that to you, Kid._  
**_Yeah right. Why do you keep calling me 'Kid'?  
**'Cuz I'm older than you?  
**How the hell can you be older than me? My body! My brain! What are you --- _

I'm talking to the voices in my head….What the fuck am I doing?

**_Awwww. S'awright, Kiddo. You're just not that used to having someone who's willing to have a conversation with you in your head! Tyler was more grabby. Don'tcha think?_**

New Yorker accent.

**_Always the body…never anything else._**

Female. What?

My next session with Shrink Betsy will be interesting.


	3. Until the

Third installment is a short installment. Basically a little more on female voice. And Jack/Narrator-paranoia. Rate, Review and Enjoy.

* * *

"Female?" She asks again.

"Yes. Well…it sounds female…anyway. Is it even possible?"

_Or has seeing so much God damned white fucked up my hearing too?__**  
Now, now, Jack! Someone might take that the wrong way!  
**_

"Yeah. Some asshole who needs to stop being so uptight"  
"Doctor Anthony isn't _that _uptight, Jack"

I had spoken aloud. Damn.

Not good for a sanity check report.

Apparently; having a voice in your head that is of the opposite gender is quite normal. It is also, apparently, normal having tendencies to dress/act in accordance to said personality and it's gender.

However, I have been assured that 'She' will _not_ do as Tyler did; force me into changeovers and hallucinations and that fun.

Actually, she never really promised me on the whole hallucination area….but I think I can trust her for now.

What am I saying?!

This is a voice in my head! I shouldn't be trying to make deals with it!

'_**Nah. It's totally fine! I won't do nothin'! Promise!'  
**__'Please stop doing that!'  
__**'Doin' what?'  
**__'That!'  
__**'Sorry, still not followin' ya there, hun'**_


	4. Shit hits the fan

Chapter 4 is up with Chapter 3. Again; read, rate, review, but most importantly; Enjoy.

Also; if you get the mini-rant about the smoke ring; you have earned a cookie. However you will not receive the cookie, (unless you have one in your house, so by all means, treat yourself to it) because the cookie is just a 'reward' for completing a menial task.

You are not your cookie jar. Now dance.

* * *

Female voice is 'gone'. Granted she kinda began vanishing a long while ago….when I started taking a new medicine….

Lipstick-red and sky-blue at either end.  
A little number '42' in black on the red end of the shell.

Tasted like barf.

Or those gross candy sticks you got at cheap-and I mean really cheap-fairgrounds.

The ones that tasted like barf.

Yeah, those ones.

Unfortunately…Tyler had been making a few 'appearances' in the corner of my cell. I don't like this. The looks he gives me are something awful….and I'd rather he wasn't there at all. The hole in the back of his head is still there and I see it sometimes in my nightmares…..I hate having to see it.

Over and over again and again, I see the events play out. I pull the trigger. Pain coursing through every nerve, vein- even the pores of my skin!- as my cheek does a little slow-motion 'waving' effect and my head is forced to the side. And then I look, a little smoke ring escaping from his mouth when he asks me what the smell is.

_-The bastard can even blow a smoke ring. He's got another one up on me!-_

Eyes unable to keep focus or even look at something for any longer than a second or so. All this before he falls to his knees, twists on impact, giving me a nice view of the damage I'd caused to his head, and then falling to the ground….where he disappeared instantly.

Psych Betsy has told me that sometimes, certain 'personalities' that are developed can become attached to their 'host' and vice versa.

What I don't want to find out is whether it's Tyler or Me who's keeping him around.

I really hope it's Tyler though…If it's me who's doing it, then I'm even more nuts than I originally thought.

"It's not that surprising, though, Jack" Shrink Betsy says, firmly; "You said so yourself, Tyler Durden looks like you want to look" She cleared her throat, it was kind of cute considering she's a doctor and has to be mature about this, "He fucks like you want to fuck, he is smart, capable, and free in the ways that you can only dream of being"

I am Jack's overtired boredom of hearing this over and over again.

"I am Jack's exhaustion" I yawn, shrink Betsy quirks an eyebrow and giggles a little. She'd caught on after she'd heard about the 1st person narration of organs.  
"Let's get you back to your room then" She says, "Apparently you have mail"

It's my turn to quirk an eyebrow.

Mail?

I told the monkeys to be careful. Marla doesn't send mail….

What the hell?

*I am Jack's gast having been flabbered...

It's from my dad.

I skim through it; he saw me on the news, his newest wife having given him the idea it was his fault for leaving my mom being why he'd wrote to me….something about cancer….smoking (I could do with one right about now, actually) and then finishing with an address to write to.

Wow. Guilt, heh, sure must be a bitch. And by the looks of it, runs in the family.

The next letter, and my last, is from my lawyer. I didn't even bother to open it. I was too shocked by my dad having actually written to me. I hadn't heard from him since I got my job at that damned car company.

Unfortunately, shrink Betsy brought me back to my ever so lovely accommodations and asked to see the letter from my father. Psychoanalysis…there is **no** sneaky way to do it in here, is there?

Reluctantly handing her the letter, she also skims through it. Every now and then her eyebrows would raise, lower and then shoot up again…it's not that bad, surely?

"Good night, Jack" She says, finally, handing me back my letter and closing my room door on me. "The orderly will be along in about two hours to give you your medication" He voice is chipper and her smile is far too wide to be of any comfort. Still, I smile and say goodnight.

Just because I didn't have the 'perfect' family or life (and beat a man twice my size a couple of times) doesn't mean I can't be polite.

I'm more than happy with the fact that I'm getting meds. I haven't been sleeping well lately….granted I don't think I have _ever_ slept well. But, since coming to this place, I've been given meds to make me sleep…it's just that they don't work.

Even here, I'm a lost cause.

_**No. No you're not. **_An all too familiar voice speaks up sarcastically from behind me.  
_Oh God.  
__**You're just…struggling…maybe I can help you with that…after all, what are friends for?  
**_

I am Jack's complete and utter terror.

* * *

* Flabbergasted. A really horrible joke I wanted to include for some reason.


	5. Who the hell

I screw my eyes shut.

There is no **POSSIBLE** way that this is actually happening.

_**'fraid so, kid  
**__No. No. No way, man. Not happening._

I feel a hand rest on my shoulder. It's so light and pale that I jumped forward and almost crashed into the wall with the sink. I try to keep facing away from it...from _him_ as I scramble to the corner of the room and force myself into the corner as far as I can go.

I feel like the dunce in class who was sent to the corner with a hat.

I am Jack's inconvenient train of thought.

_**Aw, c'mon! Wasn't **_that _**bad, was it?  
**_  
I don't answer. Maybe if I ignore him he'll go away....

_**That won't work. And, to answer my question, 'no'. It was not that bad. Come on, man! We did it! Project Mayhem was a success! Economic equilibrium...WE HAVE IT!**_

I still don't answer him.

_**I swear...if you don't answer me, Jack.**_

That's the first time he's ever actually used my name. I screw my eyes closed even more and tighten my lips into thin lines.

_**If you don't answer me, I'm going to make an appearance at your next review.**_ He sang.

This obviously got my attention....but I'm not going to listen to him. I start counting under my breath from one to one hundred or further if I need to.

"One-hundred-and-two" I say aloud.

The voice starts to get hoarse, it coughs and goes away.

"Jack? Are you alright, buddy?" I turn around and find two orderlies staring at me in, well I think it's concern. Unfortunately, they're holding an uncomfortably large needle and my personal 'jacket', so any comfort they could have offered is out the window and over the high security wall.

"I-I'm fine...." I smile, "That needles makin' me a little nervous though"

Orderly one gives me a sheepish smile and puts the needle on the trolley outside my door. Orderly two hands orderly one the jacket in exchange for my meds. I take them gladly and swallow them dry; refusing the water I'm offered.

I'm not looking forward to what my dreams might end up being about, but I feel safer knowing that even if he shows up in them; he won't be able to do anything.

_**Yeah? Well, pretty soon? You'll need ten times the amount of those damn pills to put you in a medically induced **_coma_** to keep me away. You're getting used to 'em buddy! Eventually you'll be totally immune to them! **_The rant continues, but as the drugs kick in, it gets weaker and weaker until I can't hear it anymore.

Such comforting words at a time like this.

_**Tyler's back, baby!**_

"It just gets better and better" I mumble before drifting off into my lovely, medically aided dream land.

"Tyler's back" I say to shrink Betsy as we walk through the garden.  
Her head shoots round to look at me, just to check I'm not bulling her. "It's not entirely unheard of for a 'personality' such as 'Tyler's' to return every once in a while. Though I doubt he'll be around for long" She smiles, trying to comfort me. It didn't work when Mom said it when dad came home looking for money, why the hell would it work at a time like this?

"I don't know....I mean, you saw, physically _saw_, what he can do. That CCTV tape proves it"  
"I'll agree that it does seem to be that he is a very....._persistent_ 'personality', but he doesn't seem to be that strong!"  
"He put his hand on my shoulder....and I could _feel_ it" I emphasised by putting my hand on hers as Tyler had mine.

Even she jumped.

"Don't do that!" She said, far sterner than I have ever heard her. Not even with Steve, the 'loveable', schizophrenic rapist down the other side of the asylum. "You said his hand was pale and there was hardly any pressure to it....like a, like. What was it you said you thought it was like?"  
"A ghost"  
"A 'ghost'. Exactly. It could have been a light breeze –"  
"My window doesn't open"  
She looked at me like we were cartoon characters and I'd just hit her on the face with a frying pan.

I won the argument. I'm not sure if I'm happy with that outcome though.

Tyler's been popping up again and again, like the subliminal cock we put into that kid's movie. He's there for a second, gone in another. I hate puns, but he's such a dick.

I really don't like this....It's so damn obvious that I don't like this but shrink Betsy _still_ tells me I'm being paranoid.

Denial is a defence mechanism.

Why the hell is she denying what is so blatantly OBVIOUS!?

And besides, just 'cause I'm paranoid, doesn't mean he isn't hiding somewhere.

Waiting for me.

Waiting for me to fuck up and take the opportunity to changeover....maybe he's already tried.

"Have I ever, um, _changed_, during our little sessions?" I have to ask. I gotta know.  
"Well...no. You've obviously had good sessions where you've been very happy and content and then other sessions where you have been depressed and slightly aggressive. I assure you; however, this is completely normal"

Not as comforting as I'd hoped.

"No. I mean, halfway through. Like, one minute I'm very...me; happy, content...whatever but the next minute I'm aggressive...or forward or something"  
She shook her head and bid me goodnight, then had to run back.

"Oh! I almost forgot! Marla called today. Apparently, she's going to be able to make this month's visit. Isn't that going to be fun!?" She smiles and walks away again.

I'm too concerned with Tyler to be bothered with Marla actually making it to a visit.

That bastard's going to try something.

I just know it.

Which means, he knows it. And he'll know that I'm not going without a fight this time.

_**I get it. You're fucking insane, you're girlfriend is dodgy as fuck and you're a completely fucking paranoid schizophrenic. Good for you! I don't think they have cards for this kinda shit....but I'll see what I can do.  
**__Why do you swear so much? You didn't used to.  
_

I don't get an answer. What the hell is wrong with him?

What the hell is wrong with _me_?


	6. Throws shit at a fan?

I haven't slept in 4 days.

Marla's sitting behind the little glass panel, waiting for them to finish checking her coat and pockets, smoking what's probably her thirty-fifth cigarette or something of the day.

She's finally allowed to come in. The reunion isn't as I expected it;

Normally, in the movies, the woman rushes up and swings her arms around the heroic main character and they kiss. Sometimes there's a quick, almost unseen flash of a clip of some porn movie.  
Not in this life.

No siree-bob.

Marla hugs me, than backs off a good few feet, cigarette balancing between loose fingers as she looks me up and down.  
"So" that deep, slightly croaky voice crawling its way up my spine. I guess I missed her more than I thought. "How are they treating you? Will you ever get out? Is there any 'big bad boys' that pick on you in the showers that I need ta take care of? Is –"  
"Marla, Marla, Marla! It's ok!" I'm in a psych ward not a freakin' prison.

She huffs and takes the last, long draw of her cigarette.

"I'm fine. I mean it. I'm even making 'progress'!" I smile widely, though I'm not sure if it's for her or for me.  
"That's good. Hey, the, uh, 'Monkeys'?" She waves her hand in a circular motion and I nod my head.  
"Yeah. They keep coming to my apartment. Something about 'safety checks'?"

The monkeys are either really dedicated and thorough or they really are a bunch of morons.

"Sorry. Um...if I write you a letter would you give it to them? They'd probably stop"  
"What am I? In grade school and can't take part in PE?"  
"I missed your sunny disposition, Marla"

And she laughs. It's really an honest laugh, and I can't help but join in. I can't remember having laughed so hard before....

'Cept, maybe that time with Tyler. We got smashed and played golf in the yard.

That was good, admittedly.

"Ok, _'dad'_. 'Can I have a note so the mean ol' monkeys don't make me clean my house so they can check all my stuff?'"  
I nod my head, chuckling.

This is a very strange turn of events.

ShrinkBetsy appears and tells us we can go into the garden.

"This is actually pretty nice" Marla compliments.  
"Yeah. Especially at night, we get some kind of crickets and the moon looks amazing on that little pond over there"  
"Hmm. They got any spare rooms?"

Marla eventually had to leave. It was her first visit (she's cancelled the last four) and she'd been impressed and very open minded. I actually had to keep asking her if she was alright. I gave her a note to get the monkeys to leave her alone.

I told them to keep an eye on her, not to stalk and analyse every nook and cranny of her apartment.

'Dumb monkeys' I brood on my walk back to my room.

_**Wow. I didn't think you still had the hots for her! Well. No one's perfect, as they say.  
**__Please stop talking to me.  
__**That's just rude, man.  
**__It's just not healthy for me-  
__**'It's just not healthy' wah, wah, wah. Lighten the damn hell up! Christ, I thought I told you. Don't be like all those stiff, dead people in groups. You have to know that-  
**__Only when we lose everything are we able to do anything. Tyler, because of you, I have lost my sanity. The only thing I have left, well...it's Marla. And I'm kinda incapacitated as we 'speak' y'know? I'd have thought you'd noticed the security, the walls, and the huge electric fence outside? No? Well -  
__**Shut up. And that's hurtful. 'All I have left is Marla'. Wah. What about me, man?  
**__What_ about_ you?  
__**Heh. You'll see. Oh and that 'security'? Look to you left and nod.**_

I humour him, what's the harm, right?

Oh there's a lot of harm.

I looked, I nodded and the result was a replying nod from a black-eyed, broken nosed orderly.

The monkeys are fucking everywhere.

_**And, Jack? Don't think that just because you want to get rid of me, means I'm actually going to disappear. And you are able to do **__**anything**__** you want. **_

I look into the doorway of my room and wish I hadn't.

Standing in all his glory was Tyler Durden. Tan, built, handsome and very much a questionable dresser.  
The smirk made my stomach to a somersault routine that would win an Olympic gold medal.

I am Jack's helplessness.

* * *

**A/N: **Okay, two new chapters for the new year of 2010! Woo!  
Also, (For those who already know and get annoyed by this) I've found that Jack isnt suffering from MPD or Schizophrenia...but I'll fix that in a later chapter.


	7. Monkeys throw shit at a fan

There are no words to describe how hard it is for me to _not_ run around the hospital screaming; "Do you see him?! Can you see him!?" at everyone and anyone I meet.

"I am Jack's _surprise_ guest visitor" He says.

I can only stare.

"You're not real" the statement is more like the last words of a dying man than the solid stating of a fact.  
"I beg to differ" He smirks and stalks calmly over to me. That swagger of his as it always was, like when I walked home to Paper Street with him, he nods to the orderly who closes the door and walks away.

I wonder what the scene had actually looked like. Y'know, to a 'sane' person.

Probably me with my back to the orderly, talking in two different voices, and then turning round, smiling like a mad man and nodding at the orderly, who acknowledges that I want to be left alone.

My thoughts are interrupted by Tyler talking at me.  
"So. The plan is that we're gonna get the Monkeys rallied round and ready for my..._our_ return" He chuckles and that _grin_ of his creeps up and onto his face. The one that managed to convince me that this was the guy I had to be around if I wanted my life to take a turn for the better.

And look where that got me.

There's a loud snapping noise and I look up at him, he's snapping his fingers in my face.

"Stop driftin' off, man. It's ignorant and not to mention, not all that beneficial in terms of psychiatric profiling" he snorts a laugh and I wince.

Why is he here? Why won't he leave me alone?

I start counting. It doesn't work.  
I close my eyes and try the stuff from groups in vain. It doesn't work.

I think about calling for the orderly but there's a hand at my throat. It's not pale or weightless like the one from before. Oh no no no. This one is tan and _strong_. I can _feel_ it wrapping its fingers round my neck as well as the heat coming from it.

He's going to kill me. Holy fuck he's gonna kill me!! And when I'M gone, he'll be able to do whatever the fuck he likes! Who knows what he'll think of doing!

"Relax, man! Fuck. You're too jumpy. This place must have had a real effect on you then, huh?" He laughs a little, obviously joking and trying to comfort me.

Wasn't working.

Eyeing him up, his hand still threateningly tensing and relaxing around my throat, I swallow and take a deep, deep breath.  
"What do you want?"

"'What do I want?'" he repeats.  
"Yeah. What do you want? What are you deaf, now?" Sometimes, that rush of adrenaline you get when you get a little ballsy isn't the greatest thing in the world. If dirty looks are anything to go by anyhow.  
"Nah. Just don't see why you'd wanna know. 'Sides, I just want to get out of this dump. Don't you?"  
Before I can answer, either by nodding my head or voicing myself, he answers for me.  
"'Course you do. So, here's your ol' pal, Tyler. And your ol' pal Tyler has a little trick up his sleeve to get you out of here. Now, before you jump at this _**once in a lifetime chance**_, I suggest you make sure you're going to cooperate this time and _not_ talk about me to anyone or ask about me"

I want to tell him to shut it and demand that I be doped up, unfortunately, he's a thought ahead of me and his hand clamps around my throat while the other covers my mouth.

"Ah, ah ah! We'll not be alerting anyone to your 'regression'. That'd look bad on your review next week" there's a smile on his face but his voice couldn't have sounded deadlier. "Now, where was I....? Oh yeah. No asking or talking about me, understand? No rebelling against me and no running to Marla for help, okay?" I blink. Surely I can just _think_ him away or something, right? "And no trying to get rid of me either, Psycho, 'cuz I'm here to stay"

He releases me, and as I slump to the floor, my sight starting to black out, I can only partially watch him turn and walk out of the now open heavily locked door.

Later, I have nightmares of being awake all night; writing letters to people I don't remember meeting, flicking through a phone book in the waiting room and getting a sandwich and a glass of water from a black and blue looking kitchen staff.

This can't be good.

* * *

**A/N**

Gah! The chapters seem to be getting shorter and shorter!!! I'll need to fix that. I think I'm saving all the long chapters for when Tyler's in full swing with his 'plan'.

Thank you to all of you who have been alerting, faving and reviewing!


	8. And who has monkeys?

**A/N:** Just to clarify, I felt I had to separate the time skips, so those massive gaps are intentional.

Enjoy. *cheesy smiley face*

* * *

I am so dead.  
Dead as Bob and his bitch-tits in the back yard of the house on Paper Street.

Tyler's back and I am gonna pay.

My review is this afternoon.

Oh man. Oh man! I am dead!

"Okay, we get it. You're a dead man. Sheesh. Least then you  
won't be so much of a fucking drama queen" That voice echoes in my little room.  
"Shut up!!! You're not allowed in on my personal thinking  
space!!! And what do you mean 'we'?" I can't tell if I'm speaking aloud or thinking to myself anymore.  
"Now you're just being paranoid, man. Lighten up! Least I make  
you do fun stuff. And your 'personal thinking space'? Right next door  
to where you thought me up."

"Jack?" It's shrink Betsy. Damn her. Though I have to admit I couldn't  
be more thankful of her timing right now.  
"Uh, yeah?"  
"I thought I heard you 'talking' to someone. Are you alright?"  
She's standing at the door in her usual black business pants and White  
lab coat. Her shirt is different. More a burgundy today.

Oh god, I _am_ going mad.

"Was it Tyler?"  
I'm shocked at her bluntness, and all I can do is nod. Or at least, all I _want _to do is nod, but the kick to the back of my leg stops me.  
She 'hmmm's for a bit then waves her arm from her elbow in a circle motioning for me to follow her.

She's giving the smile that makes me want to punch her. It's her 'everything is not alright but I'm not gonna tell you what's up' kind of smile.

Our walk is quite short. Unfortunately. We stopped at a room I have come to hate. My 'room 101' if you will.

I sit and have to talk about everything that can and can't be talked about.

And then I have to talk some more.

I don't mind the talking; it's just that they hook me up to a couple of machines that make sure I tell the truth and stuff. I hate all those wires and sticky needles that get placed onto my head.

I feel like a rabbit they test the soaps rich people buy.

And the questions they ask me...I don't think that the Spanish inquisition was ever this bad.

My reviews are always the damn same.

And they all have the same damn ending;  
"Thank you, Jack. We'll go over your answers and tell you tomorrow if you are up for any perks!"

By perks they mean the possibility of more time in the garden or maybe release.  
Though, supposing I do get out? What the hell would I do?

Tyler's back and has forced me into more changeovers in the last week since his first, full 'bodied' appearance than is comfortable to me. I haven't been able to tell Shrink Betsy about it though, every time I try; Tyler kicks me in the back of one of my knees, and I have to say there's something in my slipper.

"Alright, before you go in I just want to let you know that the progress you've been making can be used to your favor this time round" Shrink Betsy wants me to get better. But this is the first time she seems to actually mean it. "But that doesn't mean you can go in there and pull the same stunt you did you're second review. No shouting, or getting angry and do not ever – "  
"You go through this lecture every review. I know not to accuse or go on a rampage. I'm not stupid. I want to get out of here and I want to get better…."I stare at the floor, Tyler's shoes come into view and I dart my head up towards the door of the horrible little office I'm going to be evaluated in.

"Let's get this over with" grumbling at her seems to tick her off. Maybe she'll be cruel and send me back to my room. No review.

No such luck.

Wires strapped to my temples, suction cups on my chest above my heart and a little finger glove hooked up to an unsettlingly loud machine on my left pinkie and right index. The doctors who are reviewing me today are different from the ones I usually end up with.

There are two of them, one with no hair and a big, black beard and another who isn't looking at me. The one who isn't looking at me scares me.

It's got to be the blonde hair. It's too familiar. I shift in my seat. His head turns a little to his right and I see the white lines of scars from medical stitches, a real contrast to the bruise-purple colour of his skin, the bulbous eyebrow and an eye that doesn't look as if it sees too well.

My stomach does another Olympic gold somersault.

And then pole vaults up into my throat.

"My name is Dr. Spitz this is an intern of mine, Mr. Teol" The one with the beards says. Dr. Spitz usually reviews patients who are close to being released…maybe he's the real deal. "Please do not be alarmed at his appearance, Jack"  
"I was attacked walking home one night. I assure you I'm not violent" Angel Face says, he makes a face (or he tries to) to tell me he's only using it as a cover.

Apparently; it's an 'honor' to be beaten by Tyler Durden.

Gag me with a spoon. A big one.

The interview goes on longer than expected. Angel Face doesn't attract any attention to himself. Tyler stops me from talking about his 'return' by clenching his hand on my shoulder or trying to choke me and I have to clear my throat to make it look inconspicuous. Doc Spitz alters between watching my behavior and my heart rate on a monitor, facing him. I don't think my attempts at 'normal' behavior are working.

"Your file states you have MPD" he changes the subject from my father to my 'condition' "More specifically; Dissociative Identity Disorder. Do you know what that means?"  
I shake my head.  
"Basically, it means that you have one or more 'alter egos' and will often 'change' into these alter egos which take over your entire being.."  
"Yeah, I know that, it's the same with almost all MPDs, right?"  
He coughs, insulted, and continues "Yes, and from your recollections, reports and files it appears that this should have been picked up years ago. Most likely by your doctor when you complained about your insomnia. The good news is, that you turned yourself in before it really was too late, regardless of the extent you had to go to, to rid yourself of your alternate personality, and that because of your progress you should be able to be released"  
"Released?!" Tyler's voice comes out of _my_ mouth. He's excited and I'm dreading it.  
"Why, yes. But, only on the condition of taking medication and attending cognitive behavioral therapy once or twice a week"

There's silence for a moment.

"You've worked hard and made amazing progress" Angel Face pipes up. I throw the dirtiest look at him I can without arousing suspicion from Dr. Spitz.

I haven't had a good night's rest since the review a fortnight ago. Discharge papers have been passed around and I only need one more signature before I can leave. Tyler's been sitting giggling to himself, and I've been getting really quiet. When shrink Betsy asks what's wrong, I have to tell her I'm just a little nervous about getting to go home.

I keep thinking about a job. And how having been in a mental hospital can tarnish a CV.  
Tyler's thinking of ways of getting more attention and members.

I haven't heard what happened to the house on Paper Street.  
Tyler says he's got it covered.

There's been a string of robberies.  
Tyler says they can't peg me for any of it. Real comfort.

My papers are signed.

My 'things' are packed.

My pills are labeled and I have 'unlimited' refills.

Tyler is dancing around to the elevator music.

Tyler is singing along with the black eyed taxi driver to the radio.

I am up the creek without a canoe.


	9. Tyler Mothafuckin Durden has monkeys

I don't think I've ever hated a taxi cab journey so much in all my life. Not even that time I was in New York and accidentally got picked up by an unmarked taxi, was mugged and left in the middle of nowhere.

"Would you relax?" Tyler's voice makes me jump, he'd gone really quiet and I'd finally gotten used to the silence. I look up at the driver, still whistling to the radio, talking about how his life seems to be on the up since he joined Fight Club.

I guess we did do some good... I just said 'we' again. I need to stop doing that.

"C'mon! Loosen up! We are almost home" He laughs that single loud boom of his, slaps my shoulder and keeps talking, "Left up here, pal" though it's my mouth that's voicing those words.

When we arrive, the place looks a little different. Cleaner, though not by much. Wait. No, they just repainted the house. That's why it looks 'clean'. Fresh coat of paint and the world's new again, I guess. There's a banner outside hanging from two of the second floor windows; "Welcome home Tyler!" it says in green, blue, and red writing. A little bottle of beer on the left corner and...what looks to be a boxing glove. Oddly enough, I'm kinda touched. But that banner is the last thing I see before Tyler pushes me out of the way and takes over.

I don't know how he got me here, but when the black fazes out and I'm awake again, I'm sitting in a chair and the others are holding me up in it chanting 'Tyler! Tyler! Tyler!', and 'TylerTylerTyler' is telling me to sit back and enjoy myself. Or let go and fall off.

Easy for him to say, much as I hate to admit it - he's the one in control here. Angel Face is toasting to me, I mean, Tyler, Fight Club, everyone _in_ Fight Club and the resurrection of Operation Mayhem's would be little sister; Operation Mindfuck. (Though the title's gonna have to change)

I do not want to know. But something tells me I don't have a choice.

My vision blurs again and the next thing I know I'm in my old bed, beer bottles littering the floor around it, the light knocked over and smoking a little (my guess is that I/Tyler knocked it over at some point) and the sound of people laughing while they work. In Operation Mayhem Tyler was really strict, I guess he's letting them stay in the moment for now.

Getting up I'm suddenly hit with a lot of pain in my back, looking in the little half-way mirror in my room I find bruises, boot prints and what looks like a couple of cigarette burns.

"What the hell did you put me through last night?" I wonder out loud (or, at least I think it was outloud) as I turn to see some of the damage that spread to my front.  
"Nothin' too stupid" Tyler says from behind, hand poking at a cigarette burn. I wince and squirm away. And I did _not, _I repeat, not, squeal a little.  
"No, obviously you didn't" I mutter, he smiles, sincerely I think; he probably thinks I'm going back to the way I was before I found out he was my imaginary friend. My really twisted, crazy-fucked up, imaginary friend. "'Stupid' doesn't cover whatever you make me do" my head twists round in vain to see if he's opened or worsened any of the marks.

"You really needta loosen up, Jacky boy!" his hands rest on his hips, he's wearing a really weird shirt again, not exactly eccentric, not exactly conservative. It's a little like throw up camouflage.

"Wow, thanks. I really like this shirt, too" he says looking down at himself. "Doesn't matter though, today we're gonna organise the troops!" That cheerful-sly smile beaming at me.  
"How do you plan to do that?" I ask heading to the bathroom to take my medicine.  
"Ah ah ah! Let's not be so hasty, there." He's standing in front of the cabinet, back facing me, as he takes out my little yellow,' m 'n' m' pill bottle. "You can have one of these, instead." He hands me an aspirin packet and a glass of water. "And we're gonna organise them like this; we got, I dunno, 50 men down stairs, we only need about 20 in good-ish jobs to pay for everything. And the other 30 for all kinds of jobs round here, training. You're still getting those payments from your old boss; in fact, I think they went up a little 'cuz of the whole...y'know" his finger rotates at the side of his head, eyes crossing for a second and adds a 'coo-coo' for good measure, hoping I get what he's gesturing.  
"Being locked up in an insane asylum?"  
"Yeah. That" he waves his arm non-committally and leaves, throwing the pill bottle to the other side and missing the waste basket/cardboard box of crap that needs to be taken out with the trash.

Staring at the aspirin packet with half the bubbles empty, I see that the pills I'm _supposed _to be taking are in my other hand. Not the box of trash, not in the medicine cupboard and not outside the window; so why am I even considering _not_ taking them. I _know_ he's not really there. I _know _he's a figment of my imagination and I _know _that I should be taking my would-be m-n-m happy pills.

So, really, taking the aspirin was probably a bad moral choice on my part.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you to those who have reviewed and added this to your alerts/faves etc! **

** In all honesty, I'm not too happy with this chapter, but I'm not sure where I should be tweaking, so you're opinions and criticisms are appreciated ^^. Hopefully the next one won't take so long.**


	10. But then again

Descending the stairs, I find The House on Paper Street to be very busy and everyone at a post or running to and from a post in each of the rooms, going about their business. Angel Face sees me, puts his folders under his right arm and walks towards me.

"Everything's almost ready, sir, No hiccups -" There's a crash from the corner and a tall, broken nosed Monkey stands clutching a mop on one foot, the other raised out of the way of the large bucket of cleaning chemicals of his that's just fallen over - what are the odds on the timing? "A-almost ready. The house will be spotless and we can start working again" His permanently crooked smile stretches across his face and I can't help the stab of guilt at the back of my head that runs right down and through my stomach. I smile and nod and he returns to whatever he was doing beforehand.

That kid could have gone places. He was smart, and he was (stressing on the _'was'_ here) a pretty decent lookin' guy, but he's here; with me/Tyler, the Monkeys and sure fire way to get himself killed, arrested, or possibly worse: insane, like me. Shit, I'm surprised he's not traumatised, the way his face was just after that fight, the way his face was when it started to heal and how his face is now. It's not swollen, but he still can't really see out of his right eye, his cheek is rougher and a little tighter than his left, his mouth's still lopsided and some of his teeth are still missing. On the upside to that last one; he's getting false ones put in at some point on behalf of the Tyler Durden Monkey Health Insurance Plan.

I'm not allowed to help out, I discover, after I tried helping the mop bucket Monkey, when I tried to help with raking some of the loose, freshly cut grass in the back yard and finally when I tried to help organise some of the files. A few of the Monkeys disappeared for a while, came back and handed me a small bag of magazines and some beer. There was even a pack of skittles in there! I wasn't allowed to share them so I had to make it an order to 'take one if you wanted one'.

That much power. I know it isn't really much but _still_, c'mon! These guys have given up **a lot** to be here and to live like this, and they follow almost all of my commands.

The rest of my first week goes like this. The Monkeys are still cleaning and fixing up the house, I'm not allowed to help anyone and we've worked our way round the nearest Chinese take-away menu. I can't really complain about the fixing the house up thing, I mean, the place is dry – no leaks! The windows are all intact, though some were intentionally left out of this treatment, and the place looks like a- a _place_. There's still a bit to go but, it's looking more like a house than a dump. Although they've left the room Tyler and I found all those weird, first person novels about organs alone. For whatever reason. What's been plaguing me, though, is that Tyler hasn't shown up _**once**_. Or at least, that I know of. Angel Face has become my confidante, to an extent, I've told him to be honest with me at all times and to tell me if I _am _or _have_ been acting weird, but he tells me I've been 'normal', nothing out of the ordinary.

I've been looking through the paper for a job. I'm getting bored. Restless. I'm not allowed to do _anything_ in this house. All I've done is drink vodka from the bottle and wander about in my shorts and an old, tattered, grey housecoat and god-awful slippers. I tried to make a game out of telling the Monkey's they'd missed invisible, non-existent 'spots' and Angel Face had to come and distract me with a map of the city. Something about a new venue for Fight Club.

"Anywhere. Everywhere. Fuck it. I need something to do, give me this. I'll pick a place." I say, absent-mindedly, grabbing and slightly ripping the thin paper. He opens his mouth to disobey and question but stops himself. He nods, gets a set of car keys from a drawer and hands them to me.  
"Sir, the car's out in the drive across the street. The map already has potential venues marked with 'x's and these" he hands a few small flash cards to me, "are the numbers and addresses of other places that aren't marked. As requested."

"Why do we need a new venue?" I ask looking intently at one of the cards; 'Methodist Church' being the two words that caught my attention.

"We need a larger venue. Our members have increased...you told us at the beginning of the week that we would be expanding as well."

We exchange a look that I'm still not too sure about. It was either a confirmation or a 'what the hell do you mean?' and 'why are you questioning me?' exchange. I left the kitchen and staggered upstairs to change.

I needed to get out.

I'd been out on the road for about two hours, looking for some dumb, old, abandoned Y when I parked the car and actually _thought_ about what I was doing. I was looking for another place to have fight club. I was out. In a car. Looking for a new place. To have. Fight Club. Tyler's not real. But here I am, following his orders. Kinda.

"What the hell am I doing?" I bang my head down on the wheel. Eyes closed I try that slow breathing stuff again, the penguin I'd got real used to tell me to slide down the ice telling me to 'fuck off' made me jump back and bang my head against the headrest.

"You gotta loosen up, pal" Tyler chuckles between puffs of a cigarette when I freak and flail my arms in the seat. "So. This dump looks promisin'" he turns to me and grins that shit eating grin at me and gets out of the car. I gawk for a moment before I follow him. He's picking at the locks and chains – so in reality _I'm_ the one picking at them – and before long he's in. We wander around the place. It's dark until he kicks at the wall beside the door and lights come on.

The place is huge.

I slowly turn round, looking at the whole of the hall, head up to the ceiling. When I level my head I see the quick flash of knuckles and feel the crunching pain of it connecting with my nose. Startled, I fall back. He's not real...but that _felt_ really real.

"C'mon! Throw one! Hit me in the ear if you like!" he laughs a loud, obnoxious laugh and spreads his arms to the sides; leaving him open to whatever I throw at him. In a moment of adrenaline fuelled confusion, I lunge and swing my right arm for his chin. It connects. I _feel_ it connect. I _feel_ the stubble on his chin. I _feel_ the breath over the kiss-shaped scar on my hand. He falls back a few steps and rubs his chin. He grins.

We spend the next hour or so fighting. Just like we had when we were outside Lou's. When we're finished we head back outside, refit the locks and get in the car. Tyler's driving. I'm still coming down from the euphoria.

Neither of us won that fight, we were both still standing, but the fact that we'd spent a whole hour battering lumps out of each other was worth it. Tyler was talking to me, but I couldn't hear him, I was still swimming in that orgasmic come down feeling to care to listen. Or to care about the fact that he wasn't real, that it was _me_ behind the wheel and it was _me_ who was talking to myself. "'Atta boy!" he says, "forget about that shit. What matters is that you and I, we gotta take care of those Monkeys. We're all they got".

It wasn't until I was back in bed at the house on Paper Street that I realised he had guilt-tripped me.

And it wasn't until the next morning that I realised I didn't care.

**A/N:** Sorry to those still following for the lengthy wait. Hopefully now that college is finished I'll have a bit more time for this.


	11. Unfortunately, so do I

Despite the fact that I didn't care about Tyler telling me I was basically the sole parent of a large group of grown men of Monkeys, I still felt obligated to do something about it.

It shouldn't be this easy to fall back into this. Being so at _ease_ with Tyler. Having him 'around' and calling the shots from the back seat. I feel I shouldn't be going along with any of this. Like I should feel bad about it and actually _do_ something to get myself off and away from it all. I am Jack's lack of moral obligation.

"Sir" 1st Recruit is standing, shifting from foot to foot, waiting for me to acknowledge him from my seat at the kitchen table. I try to nod but my head's in my hands, so I grunt instead. "The house has been repaired. We're just waiting for that List you mentioned the other day". List? What list? What the hell is he on about? "The List of Materials you said we'd need for The Operation".

I have no clue what he's talking about. It's unsettling. I stall; "Oh. Oh yeah! Yeah, I'll, uh. I'll get it to you later. Tell everyone they can take a break. You've all been working non-stop for weeks". He wanders off telling the other Monkeys that they have some down time and barks orders at baby-faced newbies to get beer. They've yet to really be introduced to the ring...I feel like I should change that.

I get up from the table and stagger up to my room and into my medicine cabinet. My 'happy pills' still sitting in their tube, practically untouched. Shame I can't say the same for the aspirin. Picking the little orange cylinder I back up and sit on the closed toilet seat, staring at the label. Unnecessarily long chemical names and directions for use: Two per day. I unscrew the cap and hear that 'whoosh' as air comes out of the tube, I pick two of the vomit-green capsules and swallow them dry.

I couldn't feel anything for the rest of the day and I'm pretty sure I grinned like a goober for the whole of it, too.

I took the pills everyday, religiously, for the rest of the week. I stalled and made excuses about the list of materials and told Angel Face to get the Y Tyler and I had looked at ready to be used as a venue. Fight Club is more important to me than some extremist, anarchist plot. For the rest of the month I'm getting that building fixed, Fight Club is getting back on track and is taking pride of place of whatever fucked up Operation Tyler wants put in motion.

And I am getting rid of these fucking Monkeys.

I bark orders from the middle of the big hall; the Monkeys are boarding up the windows and sealing doors we don't need, the smaller rooms are being used to keep stores that can't fit into the house as well as some bunks for the over flow Monkeys that can't fit into the house, either. I don't feel bad about not helping, I feel like I'm on a mission to get these guys back on their own feet and not on their knees following some insane, pill-popping loon who can't tell if he's in his own body all the time or at _any_ time for that matter. Much as I hate to admit it, Tyler's right, I'm really all they've got.

I have the weirdest dreams for a few nights. Mostly of things blowing up and shrapnel getting lodged in my eyes. Still taking the little green pills and Tyler has only appeared once in the corner of my eye. Like the flash of that dick in the kids' movie...kinda like back at the asylum when he started making a comeback.

"I am getting sick of this"  
"Sick of what?" a female voice. Marla.

She's standing in the back doorway, facing me but looking around for Monkeys to come and 'get her' as she put it. She's wearing a nice black shirt and pants and her hair's messy. I like it when it's messy like that. Disorganised and frames her face a little.  
"How're the meds treatin' you?" She asks as she sits down in the seat across from me at the kitchen table.  
"They're doin' their job if that's what you're meaning".  
"Sounds fun". She puts her hand on my folded arms on the table and pats it a few times before realising there's going to be an awkward silence and takes it back, hiding it under the table like there's a big, dirty mark on it.  
"He's been gone for a few days you know" I say, "Tyler".

She nods her head up a little and it tilts to her left, my right, and I tell her about the nightmares and the flashes of Tyler out the corner of my eye, she doesn't say anything but she sits back in her seat and looks like she's thinking things over.

"When's your appointment?" She stares up at the scribbled over calander that now no longer seems to hold any dates.

"Next week"

"They gonna send you back?"

"Depends"

"How come I haven't heard from you?"  
I'm a little shocked at this. Marla usually doesn't bother (or at least doesn't seem to be) about me. We didn't get much of a chance to get close before I was sent to the institute, even though for weeks – months beforehand when Fight Club started and the Groups finished, we'd been, as she put it; fucking. That was as far as we'd really gotten, we'd meet, with me as Tyler, they/we'd fuck and then I'd be me again in the morning and curse and throw her out.

"Been kinda busy."

"Can see that." She looks around, surprised at the cleanliness of the kitchen, scoffing at the towers of first aid kits on the counters.

We spend the afternoon walking around the back yard, no Monkeys in sight, talking about the last few weeks and my appointment the next. It's nice. It's 'normal'. It's a little too high school sweetheart for me, but it's calm and Marla's nothing like the Monkeys. She still has her own mind. The visit ends when I offer to take her for dinner. She's still going to Groups. Well, not so many as she was when I first met her. I'm tempted to join her, but the Monkeys start howling and I have to say goodbye on the promise of a phone call.

* * *

**A/N:** Very short chapter considering how long it's been since I last wrote anything to do with this. More to come, hopefully soon. Thanks for you're patience, again, especially to those who've been following for a while. Also a "Hello" to those just just joining.


	12. Monkeys like bananas

Another long taxi ride _back_ to the institute for my review. At least I'm not in the 'cell block', there's a seperate building that looks like it was once a school at some point that they use for housing the doctors and family members. It's also where the doctor's offices are. Shrink Betsy is waiting for me down in the office. It's strange seeing her without the coat. I suppose that since she's mixing with regular people she doesn't have to stand out from the loony patients. Still suspiciously happy though.

"Jack! Good to see you! How are you doing?" She's cheery but genuinely interested in my answer as she shakes my hand, both as my shrink and as a decent human being.

"I'm doing good" I nod, returning the smile. Though not as big but just as cheesy.

She leads me down the corridor and up a flight of stairs, not really talking to me but making small talk. It's a little awkward, this small talk, but I guess she doesn't like discussing what she'll be asking me once we're in her office out in th open like this. She asks about the weather and what i've been doing with myself – if I have a job yet or not, if I've seen family or friends, she asks after Marla and asks if I've spoken to my father. The minute we're in her office she hold her arm out, guiding me to a couch, tells me to sit or lie down – 'Whichever is more comfortable' – and closes the door behind me.

"So, no job?" I shake my head. "Date with Marla?" I look to the left and scrunch my nose, waving my hand in a 'so-so' answer. Shrink Betsy sighs and sits on the chair opposite me and in front of her desk. "No communication with your father" she doesn't wait for an answer, "What about Tyler?".

"He's not made much of an appearance since I started the meds" It's sort of the truth, no one can _really_ fault me for it. I just can't tell her that I only started taking them a few weeks ago.

"When did you start taking them? Before or _after_ he appeared?"

Fuckin' mind reader. "I started when I got them" I say and she just looks at me.

"Jack this is a quick review of how you're doing and then I'm going to prescribe either the same medication or new ones, depending on how well or how badly you're doing. You need to be honest with me."

"I am being honest."

The rest of the review is basically about what I've been up to. I tell her that I've cleaned up and redone the house on Paper Street, she tells me she's a little concerned with me living in the house again but that if it makes me feel more comfortable I've to be careful about 'triggers'. I talk to her about the fact I've started to sleep on a more regular basis, she asks how much of those meds I have left and if I think I'd be able to sleep on my own or if I'd be better on 'weaker' sleep meds. I confide that I'm not sure _how_ exactly I'm going to get a job what with the 'crazy man' stamp that's on my records. She tells me to start small scale – odd jobs, supermarkets – that I need something constructive to do with my time. Just because I have the pay off perks from my old boss doesn't mean I'm going to be financially safe. I tell her about the Y and then blurted that I'm thinking of converting it back into a gym, missing out the Fight Club possibilities.

"That sounds a great idea!" She says and then telling me that it would give me something to do with my time and I could get gym equipment from a company her buddy used for his home gym that were cheap and good quality.

I don't tell her about Tyler's first appearances and me taking his advice, or about the Monkeys or that Tyler seems to have plans he wants them to put into motion, and I don't tell her a thing about Fight Club. Though I am liking the idea of using the Y as a gym...make a little money that the Monkeys could use to buy themselves an apartment. Get away from me and Tyler. She's happy with what she's been given and prescribes me new sleep meds and more vomit-green capsules to keep Tyler at bay.

Shaking hands at the exit she gives me a card with her office number and says that I should call _that_ one if something happens, explaining that it's a different number for different patients depending on their 'recovery stage'. I get into the taxi that pulls up and assure her I will call if something happens and thank her for her time. She waves as the car pulls away.

"Sir". Fuckin' taxi driver's got a split lip and bandages around his hands. Should have noticed that.  
"Yeah wha-"

"Sorry, but there's a...a 'situation'...of sorts" This guy looks like a real bruiser, the kind of guy bull dogs shit themselves because of and here he is, shaking like the smallest little kid on a dodgeball court.

"What kind of 'situation'?" He's making me anxious, "What's happened?"

"The basement in the Y. We found something under there and we're not sure what to do with it"

I sigh and tell him to go the route past the pharmacy.

After I pick up my meds and we arrive at the hall there's a bunch of Monkeys outside, shifting from foot to foot. They look like they've all been told they only have days to live. Angel Face on the other hand looks like a kid on Christmas.

"Sir!" He looks at me like he wants to leap into my arms, "I gotta admit, if I may? Well I'll be honest, I thought you were bulshittin' me about that list and then we go down the basement and there it is!"

I have the most confused look I have ever had on my face. I can tell. I can't _see_ it myself but I know it's there. I make strange, stuttered noises and then walk past him. There's Monkeys still boarding windows and they all nod or clap as I walk by. Slowly, very slowly, creeping down the stairs to the storage basement, I find the light already on, the draw chain of the bulb still slightly swinging. I also find massive crates marked 'fragile', 'dangerous contents' and 'this way up' (reading sideways which made me freak out the minute I saw it) with a clipboard on a small table at the bottom of the stairs. It's my hand writing, but it's smaller and more of a scrawl than usual. I doubt anyone else could read the writing...there's chemical names and safety gear listed. At the bottom where it says 'Signed for:' there's an 'X' and I instantly know who's sent the kiss.

I rush up the stairs, clipboard in hand and lock the door (_when did I get the key?_) behind me. I bark orders along the lines of 'No one goes in there! Ever! Stay away!' and death threats to those who even so much as _think_ about it. I get in the cab and order a return to the House on Paper Street, going over the clipboard again and again. I then start freaking out and wondering if there's been a moment when I haven't really ben aware of what's happening or if I've not been myself at any point. Then I start remembering about the meds. The increase in my sleeping habits...what the hell is in those meds?

I am Jack's blind panic.

* * *

**A/N:** I've noticed that I seem to have a habit of writing chapters for this and then forgetting about them and then when someone reviews or sends me a message about it, I'll publish the chapter. Anyway, thank you for sticking around, hello to those who've stuck around and those who've just joined us. It's still quite short, but enjoy!


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